


hiraeth

by chxnchxnn



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drabble, F/M, Gen, Hak-centric, Oneshot, Son Hak/Yona if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 18:09:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14407632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chxnchxnn/pseuds/chxnchxnn
Summary: Even if he wishes, even if he prays, there's no way to rewind time.





	hiraeth

**h** i **r** ae **th**

( **n.** ) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

* * *

 

“I want to go back.”

It haunts him, how quick he was to respond. The moment Hak met Soo-Won’s glance, he knew what the king (the _king_ , he bitterly thinks) was telling him.

So he ran. He ran like it was second nature, to follow Soo-Won’s orders, to serve him. It was only after he collapsed underneath the destroyed noose, Lili in his arms, that he realized what he had done.

And as the moon’s glow becomes outshined by the sun creeping over the edge of the earth, Hak sits there and thinks. Even when Yona joins him to watch the sunrise, they exchange few words, instead choosing to bask in each other’s presence.

He doesn’t know what prompts him to say those words. Perhaps he had reached his limit, the silence too much for him to hold back the thoughts buried deepest in his heart. No matter the reason, the moment Hak utters those words, it was like tearing open an old wound, and it _hurt_.

Yona tilts her head, doe-eyed and curious. “Go back where?”

“Back to the past, back to when we were children. When we were young and naive.” His eyes stare distantly across the horizon, painted with streaks of warm crimson and violet.

The mood shifts, the former princess leaning back against the tree, her own violet eyes turning melancholic.

“Before he—?”

“Yeah,” he interrupts, his voice throaty, layered with years of resentment and betrayal. He didn’t want to hear _his_ name pass her lips, to hear the pain that _he_ inflicted on her.

(the pain he inflicted on them.)

So he wants to go back. To the times when they played in the snow and layed in bed sick, clasping each others’ hands as they slept. Before their biggest concern was who would try to kill them next, or who would they almost die trying to save. Before _he_ decided to break their friendship and trust beyond repair.


End file.
